Dear Donnie,
I am glad that you and your brothers are doing well. I got the summer camp scholarship from my school, since you asked. Since I have gone I have had tons of fun, but I miss the lair and punching robots into smithereens. Master Splinter has taught me well; I am really good at Gaga Ball thanks to my newfound ninja skills. Gaga Ball is a game where you and a group of other kids (in this case, teens and preteens) in a circular, dusty pit with a volleyball. It is like a cross between reverse soccer and dodgeball. When I come back maybe I will teach you and the gang how to play, it's really fun.
There are plenty of good things about the camp, but as with anything, lots of annoyances as well. The girls at my cabin talk for hours about nothing but the boys at the camp and their ideas of a "perfect boyfriend". I want to talk about new ways of defeating baddies, but atlas, I cannot. Master Splinter taught me that ninjas operate in the shadows and in secrecy, but not always in the dark. Sometimes it's in plain sight that the best spots are to hide. In other words, in order for no one to notice me, I must blend in with the crowd. And the crowd I am jumbled with happens to be a gaggle of giggling girls who only talk about crushes. I hope none of them start asking me questions; I prefer to talk about fallacies and syllogisms.
Also, don't ever call me again "Big A". Names like "Carrot Top" and "Red" have somehow been less annoying. I don't ask for much in this life, and I am blessed to have a short, two syllable name like "April". If you try to be fancy and call me that again I will throw Ice Cream Kitty and the entire fridge with him outside if you call me something like that again in print. Nicknames work in real life; not on paper.
I hope you're not having too much trouble with whatever New York nuisance you're fighting with this time. I'm sure that you guys can handle it, whatever it is. In your next letter, tell me about your latest encounter with one of your adversaries in detail. So far the only fighting I've encountered was when I noticed that a huge 17-year old was picking on a 13-year old near the horse stables. A group of others had gathered around to watch the action, but obviously none were planning on defending him. After all of the violence I've seen, it seems pretty pointless to attack and threaten somebody for a bag of sour worms. Although Master Splinter warned me to not draw attention to myself, I could not simply stand by on this occasion. I walked up to that doofus and told him to lay off. He laughed at me, and some of the crowd did too. I guess the image of a short teenage girl strutting up to him like a rooster and telling him what to do was pretty funny to him. When he saw that I was unwavering, he at first mocked me by asking me if I had been watching too much TV and calling me a "hero". When that did not work, he started showing me some of his "French vocabulary" , and that's when others from the crowd started realizing that this was getting serious they started asking me to stop while I was ahead. A few members of the group started to sneakily run for the counselor's cabins. At least some of them had sense. All I had to do was to have him keep insulting me and buy the adult's time. All would have gone somewhat well if I had not let my Irish temper get to me. I swear, that idiot had luck on his side when he was calling me names. You know what he called my dad? You won't believe what a coincidence this is, but he called my father a bat. I am sorry to say that those words made me snap. I did not use any fancy kicks or throws or anything, I just punched him in the nose. Because the dork was so tall I had to stand on my tippy toes in order to smash his stupid little face, but since the mud underneath me was slippery I slipped on my ankle and fell pretty hard. My opponent fell too, and he was so mad that even though thick mud coated his face you could see red all over it. I'm not sure if it was from pure fury or blood. I lay in the dirt for about a few seconds then started to scurry across the stupid mud trying to get away. However, he grabbed my leg while calling me a few choice words. By that time a few counselors had come running and broke the whole thing up. After allowing all of us time to clean up and calm down I went to the office to get lectured and to be administered punishments. Mine was pretty mild; since the counselors were barely out of teen hood themselves they gave me a light punishment that most adults would not have even thought of: no drinking from the fancy soft drink machine in the cafeteria for a week. I never used it anyway, and the only reason that I got a punishment at all was because they probably wanted to demonstrate to the others that punching was *never* okay. In reality, they were really proud and thankful that I was around to show that guy. Behind their backs I could hear them congratulating my valor. I have to say, that is immensely satisfying.
You said in your last letter that you are super annoyed by your brothers. You say that you are sick and tired of one of them (Mikey) breaking your inventions that you've dedicated hours to. You also say that whenever you cannot answer a question your brothers treat you like garbage, and whenever you simply don't have the answer right away they treat you like trash. In other words, your siblings do not appreciate your hard work. You asked me for my advice, and here it is: Carry on. If you have any talent that others rely on it is only a matter of time before they expect a carbon copy of their idea of a perfect performance. This, of course, is impossible to maintain 24/7, so you will get blamed for it. My advice is that you ignore them stoically and continue to do the best you can. Your brothers aren't perfect, and often they will make demands more than they will recognize your efforts. Although this is not exactly music to the ears, just be patient with them.
I have other bits of advice as well to conclude this letter:
Worry about courage
Worry about cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about training
Things not to worry about:
Don't worry about the world's opinions
Don't worry about the past
Don't worry about the future
Don't worry about growing up
Don't worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don't worry about triumph
Don't worry about failure unless it's your own fault
Don't worry about machines
Don't worry about biology
Don't worry about science in general
Don't worry about the Kraang
Don't worry about the Shredder
Don't worry about girls
Don't worry about disappointments
Don't worry about pleasures
Don't worry about your brothers
Don't worry about me
Don't worry about satisfactions
Things to think about:
What am I really fighting for?
If I saw myself at work would I be pleased?
Do I really understand my brothers and am I able to get along with them?
Am I trying to make the best possible use of both my body and my brain or am I neglecting them both?
Sincerely,
April O'Neil